Not Fire, Not Ice
by HardlyFatal
Summary: LotR-verse. PG-13. Sequel to The Fall of Night. Naure is orc-napped whilst on her way to Lothlorien to regain her memories. Haldir sets out to rescue her, but will he get more than he bargains for? DROPPED
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Ok, guys, here's the introduction. I strongly suggest you read The Fall of Night, or you won't be able to understand why Naurë is as she is, and the dynamic between her and Elrond, her and Haldir, her and Lalaith, Lalaith and Rúmil, or even the other elves that went with them during that story's journey and who accompany them this time as well. 

Please note that when I mention any love between Naurë and Elrond, it is a platonic/fraternal love, and not romantic in any way. He is her mentor and friend, and that's it. Friendship is a huge theme in this story. 

Not Fire, Not Ice – Prologue

Sometimes, Elrond caught Naurë in a contemplative mood. 

In her first youth that frame of mind was rare and far between for her, as combined with the typical arrogance of the young she had possessed a good sense and wisdom uncommon in most of the children of Man. Rarely did she feel the need to ponder overmuch her thoughts and actions.

But as his friend had aged and suffered the arrows of pain and loss that life had slung at her, Naurë had slowly developed the cynicism and bitterness that deep and repeated disappointment could engender in one's heart. Watching this, his own heart had ached for her, and his hands-- for all their ability to heal--had felt useless as they hung at his sides, empty and impotent. 

Naurë had, before her extraordinary rebirth, begun to not only accept death as her fate, but to anticipate it, even to welcome it. As an elf, and therefore immortal, Elrond had trouble comprehending this mentality. As a healer, and one who pursued all possibilities in order to preserve life, he viewed it as anathema. After millennia of experiencing life and observing the constant yet ever-changing cycles of existence, he knew that all things waned and yet waxed once more: all that was broken would mend, and all that was whole would rend. 

This knowledge was, he supposed, a curse as well as a blessing for the Eldar, for it made one unable to view much with any urgency.

Men, however, had little life allotted to them. Each of them was such a tiny speck of stardust in the immense heavens stretching overhead that it was a wonder any of them managed to accomplish anything-- Elrond regarded with no little amazement his foster-son Estel, his forebear Isildur, and the myriad other Men of note he had known in his long existence. Truly a formidable people, if a rash one. 

Elrond continued to muse as he walked the gardens of Imladris to where Naure awaited him. She was every inch a daughter of Man, for all her innate common sense and hard-won wisdom; rash, yes, and with a passion to match Fëanor's, Elrond suspected with a faint smile. And that was why it could surprise him still after over three score and ten years of her acquaintance to find her sitting alone, mouth not speaking, hands not busy with some chore, eyes not flashing with the fire of her being. 

It was in moments such as these, when her face was calm and her eyes were soft, that he loved her the most, and it pained him greatly to see that it was this Naurë that he would have to send away.

"_Meldisamin_," Elrond addressed her so she would not be surprised by his silent approach. "I beg pardon for my lateness." 

Seated on a carved wooden bench by the river, Naurë turned up to him the brown eyes that were so foreign to his kin, and smiled. "I forgive you," she replied, and he marveled at the strength of the voice, reedy and thin no longer, that spilled from her unwithered pink lips. "Do you have another dose for me?"

For the medicament that had brought about this cataclysmic reverse of Naurë's aging, the remedy she had designed with her own mind and created with her own hands, Elrond had used to cure her before she could become too young and revert to childhood. When she had first awoken from the coma into which the remedy had sent her, her appearance had been that of a woman at the midpoint of her life; whilst Elrond worked feverishly to construct the antidote, she had continued to shed years and now looked even younger than her own granddaughter.

That granddaughter had been the cause of said cataclysm, but through travail and trial had redeemed herself, and earned the love of an elf besides. Lalaith ever seemed surprised that Rúmil could harbour any of the gentler emotions for her, and indeed Elrond was somewhat nonplussed that the two had found in each other kindred hearts, but love would always find its own way, no matter how unrealistic the situation…

"No," he replied, and sat beside her. "It has been a fortnight since you began to take the antidote and you have not changed again." It seemed that a year would drop from Naurë with every day that passed, and by this point if the antidote had not been successful she would have been in the first years of her life, a mere child barely able to walk, but there she was-- an adult, if young, woman. "I think you are healed."

Naurë nodded thoughtfully, and pressed her hand over his in gratitude. There were many gaps in her memory, some of them significant; she had little recall of her old friend Haldir of Lórien, for example, and had been terribly shocked to learn that she had borne children, but one fact had never deserted her: that Elrond _Peredhil_ was her closest friend and mentor, and to him owed life and livelihood. She paid her debt with a devotion that was startling to those who met her; any who dared criticize the lord of Imladris would receive the sharp edge of her tongue. 

"I am glad," she said, "but now what do I do?"

"Do?" Elrond was puzzled by her question, and it showed in his noble face. 

"I had gotten used to the idea of dying, Sir Elf," Naurë told him, the spark starting in her eyes again, and he knew her moment of quietude was nearing its end. "And so had made no great plans. I ask you now: what shall I do with myself, as I am young and hale once more?"

He frowned while he thought; she had all but given up her healing practice in Bree when she had come to Imladris last year to while the rest of her days in comfort and ease with her old friends. Lalaith might have returned to that city had she not fallen in love with Rúmil, but now that she and the Lórien elf were inseparable it was clear that she would no longer call Bree her home. "Once your memories are fully restored, you shall live here and study with me once more," he said at last. "Your work with antidotes to orcish poison is extraordinary, and will serve us well in the upcoming troubles."

Naurë nodded again. "And until my memories decide to make their appearance once more?" she quipped. "Shall I sit and twiddle my thumbs by the river, as I have indulged all this morning?"

"Indeed not," he said archly, delighting in her laugh at his mock haughtiness. "You shall go on a journey to one who will help you to brighten all that is dark to you now."

She saw immediately that, in spite of his light words, he was not jesting with her. "And who is this one?"

"My wife's mother, the Lady of Lórien," Elrond replied. "I can but heal the body; Galadriel is better versed in the wounds of the mind."

Naurë sighed. "It is for the best," she conceded. "For the longer there are blanks in my head, the greater my frustration… I find my patience thinner that I would like when I cannot remember things I ought." Gazing out over the prisms of light thrown by the waterfall's fine spray, she asked, "When shall I go? And with whom?"

"In a sen'night, I think," he said. "And you shall have Rúmil and Lalaith, of course, for he is eager to be home and she is eager to see it. Those elves that accompanied them on their wild ride, too: Thalion, Erêgmorn, Aras, Brethil, Aglar. They have worked well together and shall once more."

"A single week?" Naurë exclaimed, feigning outrage. "If there is but a week to prepare, then there is much I need to do before we depart!"

"Such as?" he asked lazily, leaning back on the bench and watching with amusement as she became more animated. 

"I have not yet climbed any of these trees," she said. "Nor have I bathed in the river, and there is a path in the woods that I have not fully explored—"

"In due time," Elrond cut her off, laughing, "for you now have all of it you shall ever need." He sobered then. "Do you see, Naurë, how you have created immortality in this remedy? And do you see how dangerous a thing it can be in the wrong hands, if one were to render themselves impermeable to all dangers?"

She did see; indeed, the issue had been much cause for contemplation in the latter days. "We must keep the recipe a secret, Elrond," she told him urgently.

He nodded. "And it must stay that way."

"It will," Naurë vowed, eyes alight with determination. "It will."

***

Naurë was delighted, when the day of departure arrived, at the opportunity to travel easily after so many years of infirmity had forced her to sit in a cart rather than in a saddle.

"My joy is boundless," she informed Elrond with a fierce hug from atop her horse, then pulled back to cup his face and stare into his grey eyes. "Ever have you been my brother, and I shall count the days until we are together once more." Never stingy with her affection, was Naurë, and with a hearty buss to his cheek, finally released him to spur her horse to an energetic trot out of Imladris' courtyard toward the road east. 

Elrond exchanged an amused glance with Rúmil. "She is very pleased indeed to regain her youth," he said unnecessarily. "You will try to contain her?"

"Try, yes," Rúmil agreed with a smile. "Succeed?" His azure gaze rested a moment on Lalaith, who had followed her grandmother's example and now rode hell-for-leather out of the valley, eager to begin their journey. "I have yet to succeed once against the females in her family." He wheeled his mount about, signaled to the elven guard, and set off after the women.

Elrond stood watching their departure until their figures could no longer be seen. "Everything will result as it should," said a voice to his left, and he turned to find his advisor, Erestor, standing at his side. "Ever it has been such, _peredhil_, and ever it shall be."

"Indeed," Elrond agreed with a sigh, and clapped his hand to Erestor's shoulder. "Indeed."

***

Naurë had, until her last years, been a woman who loved life, who loved living, and she had keenly felt the strictures of her enfeebled body as she grew older. As a healer, she accepted the inescapable nature of death, and toward her own had even come to embrace it, but now…

Now death had been cheated; Naurë's life had been snatched back from its greedy hands, and she had no intention of wasting this magnificent new opportunity, this delightful second chance at youth. "Oh, they are lovely," she cried to her granddaughter after a day's travel, pointing to the mist-shrouded mountains that rose steeply before them to the east. "And we shall cross over them?"

Rúmil smiled at her exuberance. "We shall follow the Old East Road to the bridge south of the Carrock, and then follow the Anduin south to fair Lórien." 

Naurë's mouth puckered as it always did when she was straining to retrieve a memory. "I have done that before," she said, and both Rúmil and Lalaith leaned forward eagerly, for the trip of which she spoke had been taken with Haldir. "With elves, and… dwarves, I seem to recall; and one was quite amorous, but not for me, thank Eru… no, he fancied an elf." Her eyes flew up to meet Rúmil's. "He refused to believe that one of such beauty could be male, and I had to show him the error of his ways."

One of Lalaith's rare smiles emerged at that point, for it was clear that her grandmother had regained recollection of exactly how she had shown the persistent dwarf his error. "Do you remember Haldir now?" she asked tentatively.

"Not much," Naurë admitted. "And I am not sure if he is the same elf you have mentioned to me, but clearly I have this image of him in my mind…" She closed her eyes. "He is tall and fair, with the visage of Manwë I think, so beautiful is he… he rises from the bath, and there is no doubt in anyone's mind as to his gender… oh, Eru," she finished stiltedly. "Is Haldir truly thus?"

"Never have I seen him undressed, Nana," Lalaith began as Rúmil turned away, scandalized at such a description of his brother, "but were I to hazard a guess, yes, indeed." Then her smile widened as Naurë began to fan herself with a fluttering hand and Rúmil made a choked sound in his throat. "Behave yourself," she admonished her love, lashes fluttering over green eyes at him. "You are no innocent, and it is not fitting for you to feign such." 

"Shameless," he murmured, and kicked his horse to a faster pace so as to catch up with Thalion, who as eldest elf in their party rode at the forefront. "You are shameless."

His place was swiftly taken by Erêgmorn, who neatly insinuated himself between the two women and bestowed a brilliant smile on them. "His loss is my gain," Erêgmorn said, and shot a smoky glance at Lalaith before turning to her grandmother. Ever had he tried to flirt with Lalaith on their previous journey together, but it was as clear as day to anyone with eyes in their head that her heart ever belonged to Rúmil, so Eregmorn had swiftly turned his attentions to Naurë.

_An incorrigible coquet,_ Naurë thought with amusement. For all his smoldering looks and lingering kisses pressed to the back of her hand, there was naught to back up his teasing, as she had learned with much amusement. Thinking to put him in his place, she had followed and pinned Eregmorn in one of Imladris' many corners, pretending to be in love with him and wanting desperately to have his elflings.

Horrified, he'd actually begun to stutter that he only jested before wrenching himself free and running from her. Elrond and Erestor had found her an hour later, still laughing. They had not shared her amusement at the joke, but then they were very old indeed and much of their sense of humour had evaporated over the millennia, she thought sometimes.

Since then, they had enjoyed a comfortable truce, and it was thus with great sadness that, a fortnight later, she closed his eyes after an orcish arrow took his life. 

They had navigated the last of the infamous Gladden Fields five days earlier and had been approaching the last week of their journey to Lothlórien. Rúmil's spirits were high, as he was anticipating his long-awaited return to his home, especially to see the faces of his brothers when he revealed he had given his love to a mortal woman. 

Lalaith, for her part, was nervous; she knew very well how Haldir could be about certain things, and she was sure this would be one of them. As for Orophin, the third brother: she had heard he was even haughtier and colder than Haldir, and was frankly scared to death of the coming confrontation. 

When the first arrows whizzed through the air toward them, Lalaith continued to sit on her horse, rather shocked by the attack, but Erêgmorn pushed first her, then Naurë to the ground, firing his bow in the direction of their attackers in an attempt to protect the women. 

Naurë yanked her granddaughter down beside her. "Get the packs," Naurë hissed as arrows punctured the ground all around them, "and stay out of the elves' way—they will be more effective if they need not worry about us. Remove the remedy and keep it close to you, it cannot be taken, do you hear?"

Lalaith nodded and obediently stuffed the bottles into her tunic, cold glass chilling her skin where it touched. "Eru," she whispered in horror at the second wave of orcs crossing the Anduin toward them; there were scores of them, possibly a hundred or more, and the elves only an even dozen... "We are doomed," she breathed to Naurë.

But her grandmother did not reply, for she was busy reaching out toward Erêgmorn, fingertips dragging lightly on eyelids that would never open again. "Stupid, brave elf," Naurë murmured in sorrow before taking a deep, calming breath, for the orcs that assailed them were now near enough for close combat, and with a deadly hiss each elf freed the twin daggers he wore on his back. She removed Erêgmorn's blades and handed one to Lalaith, keeping the other for herself.

"The remedy cannot be taken," Naurë repeated softly, eyes burning with meaning. "Smash the bottles if you must, do whatever it takes."

Terrified, Lalaith could only nod, and then the line of elves had pressed back against them. The horses had long since been sent away, so there was little the women could do beside offer quick swigs of remedy to the injured and keep back.

Then, a fearsome bellow from behind them made her spin around to find a host of orcs there, too. A grimy hand came to grasp her arm, and though she hacked at it with Erêgmorn's knife, she was quickly disarmed and hauled against a fetid body. Her cry of dismay alerted not only Rúmil, but Naurë as well, and her grandmother launched herself at the orc who held Lalaith.

"There is the one we seek," rumbled a low, cruel voice, and Lalaith could only watch in horror as Naurë was snatched back. She fought like a wild thing, but all too soon her weapon was taken and she was flung to the ground, surrounded by rancid orcs. "Come with us, or we will kill them all."

The women looked around and found that any elves still alive, Rúmil among them, had been subdued and disarmed, and the orcs were busily tying them up. "No," Lalaith whispered, but she saw the determination in her grandmother's eyes and knew her protest would be in vain.

"Do you ask me to come willingly?" Naurë demanded, eyes wide in disbelief.

"I do," the creature confirmed. It seemed somewhat less stupid than the usual orcs, and certainly more erudite, being able to string together nearly-complete sentences. "You are not to be harmed. Those are my orders, and I shall do what I am bid."

"Release them," Naurë said immediately. "Release them, and I will come willingly."

The orc-leader seemed to think a moment, and then nodded. "The elves shall remain tied, and the woman shall be left free." He motioned to his soldiers to let go of the elves before turning to Lalaith. "We shall train our bows on you, and you may not cut their bonds until we are gone from sight. If you do not do this, we shall kill you all."

Trembling, Lalaith nodded vigorously. The leader grabbed Naurë around her waist and hoisted her onto his shoulder, then strode away. He did not look back, only stepped into one of the shallow boats they had used to cross the Anduin and dumped her roughly onto its floor. Night was beginning to fall over them like a coarse blanket, and as the light failed and the orcs paddled them swiftly to the far shore, Naurë's gaze was locked on the diminished band that watched them go; Lalaith clung to Rúmil's side, ready to sever the ropes that bound him. 

Rúmil himself looked furious; he had been slightly injured but doubtless would soon recover, especially with the aid of the remedy Naurë had made Lalaith conceal. In spite of her dire situation, Naure grinned, and hoped the deepening dusk concealed her sudden glee. Doubtless these orcs had learned of her remedy, and wanted it for themselves, but they would not get it, for Elrond alone of all those in Middle-Earth knew its recipe; among the other things she had forgotten, the recipe to Naurë's own potion was foremost of them. 

They would not learn it from her.

_meldisamin _= my friend

_Peredhil = Halfelven_


	2. There Is Not A River Wide

Not Fire, Not Ice :There Is Not A River Wide

Haldir was not a complicated elf. This was not to say he was unintelligent, for nothing could be further from the truth. It was simply that where others saw the world in shades of grey, Haldir saw mostly jetty black and clear, opaline white. To him, elves were, for the very greatest part, good, and Men somewhat less so while orcs, Nazgûl, and other such creatures were evil. In his lengthy experience, very seldom did the twain meet. Good beings did not often commit evil, and fell beings were not known for their acts of compassion.

Thus it was next to impossible for him to comprehend what his brother was saying.

"I tell you truly, Haldir, they did not harm her at all, and indeed released us upon her command." Rúmil declared, allowing Lalaith a moment more to flutter about him, washing the dried blood from his already-healed wounds and out of his hair before entreating her, "_Meril nîn_, you are more distraught than I, will you not sit and rest?"

Haldir's sharp ears heard the endearment, and his equally acute easily perceived how Lalaith's hands lingered on his brother in ways that spoke of a relationship beyond that of merely healer and patient. He said nothing, however, for this was not the time to inquire about how in Ilúvatar's name Naurë had permitted such a thing to come to pass…

Naurë. Just thinking her name sent a fresh shaft of pain through him as he recalled his first reaction to the news that his brother and a group of Imladris elves escorted a woman—just one, and young—toward Lothlórien. Knowing Lalaith would never leave Naurë behind in Imladris, he had believed his dear friend dead, and a great wave of grief had crashed upon him. Sunk in sorrow, he had not gone to meet the party at the border, but had sat in his talan as memories washed over him.

Memories of joy, of laughter, but also of pain and heartache. Haldir recalled how Naurë had laughed so uproariously at the narrowly-averted 'great romance' of a dwarf's ardour for him, but also how she had cried when she'd learnt of how his parents had died, the weighty responsibility of raising the infant Rúmil falling on his inexperienced but devoted shoulders. 

He recalled how angry she could make him, angry like no other living being in Arda, but also how deeply her despair had run when her well-meant foolhardiness had resulted in his near-death. Naurë had thought him insensible the entire time, but he had seen the way she'd lifted one of his daggers, how she had held the edge to her wrist as regret for his injury overcame her. She'd never known that his sudden stirring, as if beset by fevered nightmares, had been a pretension to draw her attention. 

In the thirty-four years they had been apart after that, they had exchanged letters. Haldir had watched and lamented as her handwriting, once striding boldly across the page, had become increasingly spidery, as if it took all her effort to control the tremors of her aged hands to move quill across parchment. Finally the letters had begun to come in Lalaith's neat, clear script and he'd felt the first real fear in his heart at her inevitable demise. 

Haldir had come to Imladris last year specifically to see Naurë again, having learnt from Galadriel that her daughter's husband's apprentice would be taking an extended visit to the Last Homely Home. The sight of her, frail and bent, grey and withered, had struck him hard and taken every measure of his considerable self-control to conceal his dismay. She was the same Naurë she had ever been, however: irreverent, naughty-minded, and more than willing to irk him for her own amusement. It had been a splendid reunion, only slightly marred by her warning of her impending death, and the memory of it would live within him forever.

Even so, with so many such warnings, the shock of her passing had rendered him dumb for a full minute. That the world could carry on without Naurë in it… no, that simply was not right. Looking about him at the golden-leafed mellyrn, Haldir felt they might be somehow diminished in glory, as if their beauty had dimmed due to one less light in the world. 

When Rúmil and Lalaith had finally arrived in Lothlórien and climbed up to his talan, where he sat staring out the window at the sunset, their grave faces had not disinclined him to grief. "When did she pass?" he asked, his normally smooth voice ragged with sorrow.

Rúmil had blinked. "You speak of Naurë?" At Haldir's nod, he continued. "She is not dead, brother, but taken by orcs."

Haldir leapt to his feet at that, his chair crashing over. "She is what?" he demanded, eyes flashing with fear and fury as he recalled what had happened to the wife of Elrond, Celebrían, when that elleth had been abducted by orcs. Even after rescue by her twin sons and healing by her inestimable husband, the abuse she had suffered had rendered her incapable of dealing with life in Arda, and she had swiftly left for the Havens, a swan-ship carrying her West to the healing land of Aman. 

And Naurë, for all her fiery wit and strength, was no elleth. She was but a human, with all a human's frailties of body and spirit-- at her age it would most likely be a mercy for death to find her. He said as much to Rúmil and Lalaith.

"Hm, yes, about her age," Rúmil began, obviously somewhat at a loss to explain what he meant. "It seems that… you recall, do you not, the tonic she pressed upon you?" At his brother's nod, he continued. "It would seem that Naurë was working on a stronger version of it, one that could save Man from the very brink of death. She succeeded in creating it, but there was… an accident."

At this, Rúmil's gaze flicked to Lalaith, and the woman bowed her head as if in shame whilst twisting her skirt into vicious knots, but the elf only said, "Naurë was given an overdose of the remedy, and it greatly affected her… it has made the years fall from her, Haldir, and so quickly that we feared for her to become a babe once more, had not Elrond been able to create the antidote!"

Haldir blinked once, then twice; he turned to look at Lalaith, who had released her death-grip on the fabric of her skirts and now stood smoothing the wrinkles from it. "It is true," she confirmed. "Nana now appears younger than I, and you need not fear that infirmity will increase the danger she is in… the orc-leader said he had been commanded to keep her safe, and he would honour that command."

"And orcs are ever trustworthy," Haldir snapped, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from doing damage to some undeserving piece of furniture in his ire, even as his head whirled from the extraordinary things he'd been told. "There was naught you could do to keep her safe?"

"Nothing, brother," Rúmil replied, a glint coming to his eye at the accusation. "We were outnumbered ten to one, perhaps more, and I feared that the women might be imperiled if we insisted on fighting. As it was, Naurë bargained for our lives by agreeing to go willingly."

"She would do that," Haldir muttered unhappily as he paced around the room. "She would go into the fires of Mount Doom itself to keep Lalaith safe." He turned suddenly, startling them. "And I would do the same for Naurë." He strode to the ladder connecting the talan to the leaf-strewn floor of the Golden Wood. "I shall leave tomorrow to retrieve her; shall you accompany me, Rúmil?"

"If you do, Rúmil, know that I shall come as well," Lalaith warned swiftly. "I will not be parted from you."

Halfway down the ladder, Haldir looked over the edge of the talan to where his brother and his love stood staring at each other, their gazes startling in their intensity.. "I give you this evening to discuss the matter," he told them. They did not seem to have heard him, but their body language was subtly altered; Rúmil stood more loosely, as if poised to spring, and Lalaith's entire demeanor was yielding, as if she would welcome any pursuit he cared to attempt.

He sighed and left them to it, feeling very old indeed. If he were to leave at first light it would be a long night of preparation. As he spoke with the other elves and determined who would accompany him on his rescue, his thoughts kept returning to what his brother and Lalaith had told him… Naurë was young again, in body if not in spirit. His heart rejoiced at her newly expanded lifetime, even as he marveled at such a thing, and his mourning over her death changed into rejoicing that she lived still. 

Haldir had many questions. Had Rúmil yet realized that this remedy could be applied to Lalaith, preserving her from the aging and death that would eventually part them? Would Naurë take it always, thus rendering her as immortal as any elf? Miserable at the limitations of a lively mind trapped in an elderly body, she had been resigned to her passing-- eager for it, almost. How had her escape from death's clutches affected her? Was she disappointed to be thwarted of the oblivion she'd craved, or thrilled to have youth again?

"I shall learn the answers soon enough," he promised aloud, startling the other elves ranged around him as they studied a map of the area, trying to discern where the orcs might have taken Naurë from the description Rúmil had given. "I shall put the questions to Naurë herself, for we will find her." He looked at each of them in turn, staring into their eyes that they might see his determination. "We will find her."

***

Naurë was hungry. She plopped onto the ground whilst shooting a filthy look at Uglúk. "I will not walk a step farther," she declared, "until I have something to eat."

The leader of the orcs turned and she supposed he might have scowled at her, though it was impossible to tell, as he was incredibly hideous and his normal expression was but one huge scowl. "You have refused all food we have provided."

"It was human flesh!" she exclaimed, feeling her belly churn at the memory of how they had offered a chunk of jerky to her the previous day, giggling so stupidly as she took it that she had immediately become suspicious and demanded to know its origin. One of the orcs, dimmer even than the others, had told her with glee that it had been a Rohirrim mail-rider in its previous incarnation, and had received a face full of vomit as Naurë dropped the jerky and emptied her stomach on him.

"It was human flesh," she repeated softly, eyes locked with that of Uglúk. He was not an orc, as he'd explained proudly not long after taking her from her granddaughter and dumping her in the bottom of the boat, but something called an Uruk-hai. The result of uniting orcs with goblins, Uruks were smarter, stronger, and sturdier than their cousins, and this one led a sizeable band of orcs and other Uruk-hai in the territory east of the Anduin and north of Mordor. 

"I was one of the group who captured the Hobbits of the Fellowship," Uglúk had revealed earlier that day, "until their escape." He frowned. "I was demoted." Obviously a sore point for him, he had settled for releasing his tension by beating one of his orcs to death. Afterwards he seemed in such an excellent mood that he had permitted the others to share with Naurë their meal, giving her day a turn for the worse. 

"Tis a delicacy to us," Uglúk now informed her loftily. "They thought to honour you." 

"I sincerely doubt that," Naurë replied sourly. "And I mean what I say," she warned. "I will not budge lest you give me decent food!"

Uglúk shrugged. "Bring her," he told his orcs, and a pair of dark, dirt-encrusted hands reached down to hoist her up and over a rancid-smelling shoulder. Naurë gagged at the odor.

"I would not vomit again, were I you," Uglúk said from the head of the group as they began the march once more. "Best to keep what little is in your stomach, for all we have with us is that of which you refuse to partake." 

Closing her eyes, Naurë imagined all manner of pleasant things, of sweetly-smelling things, of beautiful things. She recalled Lalaith's face, glowing with love whenever she looked upon fair Rúmil; Elrond's when he laughed, and finally dredged up something about Haldir. Truly, she felt horrible that she could recall so little of him, for she'd been assured that they were the closest of friends. The incident with the dwarf was the sole thing she was able to envision in her head, and so she replayed it over and over, relishing the dwarf's stunned protests that such a beauteous creature as Haldir could be male, pintle or no, until she was actually giggling.

Uglúk spared his captive a glance. _Already it had begun_, he thought with no little satisfaction. Of the few Men they captured rather than killed, it did not take long for their minds to fail them, and laughing merrily was merely the first sign. He estimated she'd be barking like a warg by week's end, and in spite of the cold rain that began to fall upon them, felt cheered at the prospect. 

_meril nîn_ = my rose


	3. Nor A Mountain Wide

Not Fire, Not Ice: Nor A Mountain Wide

A sen'night Haldir had been following the band of orcs that had taken Naurë, and he was no closer to rescuing her now than he had been the first morning he'd set out. It was drear and rainy-- the sky an oppressive blanket of grey above them-- and there was little hope to remaining dry so most of the elves of the party setting out did not even bother to try. 

Galadriel, seeing Lalaith's distress over Rúmil's desire to be one of the party, had requested that he remain in Caras Galadhon as it had been nearly a year since he had been absent from it. He had seen through his lady's transparent effort but agreed, if sullenly. His reward was Lalaith's relief and thanks in the form of many enthusiastic kisses, and his sulk was soon forgotten as he eagerly accepted them. Haldir had been more than happy to leave them to it, grumbling as he stomped to the stables to meet with those who were going with him.

The rescue party included a goodly number of those elves from Rivendell: Thalion, born in Valinor many centuries ago and who had come to Arda with the rest of the Noldor; Aras, rather too dreamy and romantic for Haldir's taste in soldiers but assured by Rúmil to be a formidable fighter; Brethil, who fancied himself a comedian but was deadly when need be; and Aglar, fierce and passionate in the art of war although young and brash. 

Haldir's other brother, Orophin, would go as well. "You have lost your sense of balance in this issue," Orophin said flatly. "The duty to keep you from immoderation will fall to me." For a moment Haldir was seized with great dislike for his brother's devotion to the almighty moderation and opened his mouth to say something unwise, but he soon remembered that in all his years, he had yet to win an argument with this brother, and he fell silent once more, lips compressed tightly in displeasure. 

Galadriel and Celeborn had given him fully liberty to take with him whoever he would have, and so besides these five, with Haldir the sixth, he chose fourteen others, all renowned for their skill and fortitude. "A score we are who depart," he said as they left the Golden Wood. "And a score and one we shall be on our return."

They had headed north until a border scout informed them that a group of orcs with a lone smaller figure had been spotted heading south and east from the Gladden Fields where Naurë had been abducted. With a sinking feeling that they were headed for Dol Guldur, Haldir altered course 

"This is an impossible task," Orophin muttered as they fought the Anduin's current, arms working fiercely to move their boats across the mighty river to the eastern shore, and Haldir knew he did not refer to the paddling, but to the rescue itself. He, too, had a heavy heart and did not feel brightly about their mission but he knew he had to try. 

Once across the Anduin, the elves began their stealthy advance on Dol Guldur. A tapered clearing of trees revealed the blackened old tower rising in the distance like an ill omen, the sun setting blood-red behind it, and they hurried their pace so they would not be caught out when the orcs woke with the fullness of dusk. 

They had made excellent time, catching up the orcish group so quickly they'd been forced to pace themselves to avoid discovery. Once their quarry had been obtained, it seemed the orcs had reverted to their natural rhythms of day and night, sleeping whilst the sun shone, hiding beneath their grimy cloaks and furs until the cool rise of the moon. Daytime was when the elves would slip forward, ever toward the object of their rescue.

Aglar had wanted to attack them immediately, but Thalion, Haldir, and Orophin, as the eldest of them, prevailed upon their knowledge of orc fighting and refused his impassioned pleas. The band they tracked had joined with a sizeable contingent and now outnumbered the elves ten, perhaps twenty, to one. There was also the issue of Naurë's safety—Haldir doubted for not a moment that were they to assail the orcs, those creatures' first move would be to slay her-- perhaps defile her as well-- before flinging themselves into the fray. Aglar was not happy with this decision to wait, but conceded with the bare minimum of grace. 

Haldir had tried hard to lay eyes on Naurë in spite of the distance between them, but it was not easy. The orcs had swathed her in a voluminous cloak and all he could see as the days passed was how she slowed her pace, how her stumbling increased, and finally how she sat down in the dirt before being snatched up and slung over a dingy shoulder to be carried.

"I would not mind being carried," quipped Brethil. "But I shall say no more, lest I sound like Erêgmorn in the grip of a complaint about his sore feet…" He trailed off there, remembering suddenly that Erêgmorn was no more, and an awkward silence fell over the group. Haldir wondered for a moment at the wisdom of his task, at putting at risk the lives of a score of elves for that of a single woman, before brushing it impatiently away. He had not coerced any of these elves; every one had agreed of his own will to join the party and take the mission as their own. 

They finally arrived outside the fortress at midday, and stared up at it. The day had been a bright and clear one when it dawned, but with proximity to the fell tower the air lost the fresh moistness of the forest, and the sky became dark and somber as clouds crowded overhead.  

Brethil and Thalion hunted and killed a deer, a sad stunted thing, and the elves ate the venison and lembas before exploring the plinth of Dol Guldur as much as they dared before retiring to the trees for the night. 

"This is madness," Orophin declared after they had secreted themselves in the highest reaches of an immense evergreen. He sat in the fork of two sturdy branches as easily as if he were in a chair, a half-eaten apple in one hand and a flask of miruvor in the other, and glared steadily at his brother.

Haldir ignored him, mind busy on finding a way to infiltrate the fortress. Built atop a steep artificial hill, it was said to be impenetrable, and the woods of southern Mirkwood that surrounded it teemed with orcs and spiders. A group of twenty elves would have no chance to enter it, but perhaps a lone elf in disguise…

"Indeed not," Orophin declared when Haldir described what he wished to do, crossing his arms over his chest when his brother's expression turned mulish. "Tis suicide, a quest for death. There is no way in Arda nor Aman you would succeed. I shall not permit you to do this; it will be over my steaming corpse that you depart."

***

A week it had been since Naurë's capture, and this was the first night she would not have to try in vain to locate a soft patch of earth on which to curl up and find some measure of rest.

When they'd arrived at Dol Guldur earlier that day, she'd been so relieved at the end of their forced march that she'd nearly wept. That its forbidding spire rose from the crabbed trees crowding close to its base, a finger of ill will stretching toward the heavens, was no matter to her: there was a chance for a bath, decent food, and perhaps an actual bed. _One's priorities shifted according to one's needs_, she thought with a wry smile.

Uglúk pulled her after him, hand rough on her arm, and guided her none-too-gently into a room. Even the brightness of the rising sun outside the needlelike slit of a window was not enough to dispel the chamber's gloom, and she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle for warmth. 

Her request to bathe was answered with a bucket of cold water; her request for food, with two live birds that she had to kill as Uglúk watched, smirking and obviously thinking her incapable of the task. Naurë snapped their necks cleanly, glaring defiantly at the Uruk-hai.

He only laughed. "How fierce you are," he commented, dropping a brand to the floor so she could light a fire in the cavernous grate that gaped along one wall of her new prison.

Perhaps 'prison' was too harsh a word, Naurë reconsidered some time later. She scrambled for the brand before it could go out and managed to kindle a blaze that quickly grew to a respectable size. Setting the bucket of water beside the small fire to warm a bit, she spit the birds on the poker after plucking and gutting them. By the light of the fire she could see various candles in sconces along the walls, and gladly lit them so the chamber was gradually flooded with warm tawny light. 

Taking up one of the tapers, she began to explore the room. It was large, of a dark-grey stone that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light with its craggy surface, and the ceiling was high and flat over her head. At the far end was a long worktable, and over it was an equally long shelf containing all manner and description of ingredients for creating healing draughts. 

"Ah," Naurë said with no little satisfaction, and clasped her arms more tightly around her to keep from rubbing them together in glee, for the first thing Elrond had ever taught her was that to heal with one hand, one must be able to harm with the other. Present before her was everything she might need to heal a regiment, but also everything she might want to kill them just as easily. She wondered if her jailers were aware of this, but doubted it, remembering the dullness of stupidity in their eyes. Uglúk was the only one among them with a measure of intelligence, and even he was not overly burdened by much of it. 

But now was not the time to further explore this bounty, she realized, and turned reluctantly away from the table to continue her exploration of her new quarters. Behind a curtain of tatty dusk-coloured velvet was another, smaller room, and in it squatted a low bed and nothing more. It too wore an aged velvet coverlet of deep blue over a slightly sagging mattress, and the head was heaped with pillows-- albeit skimpily filled, and with pointy, uncomfortable pin-feathers, no less. _Still, any port in a storm_, Naurë reminded herself with forced cheer as she plumped them up to less sad proportions.

A longing to fling herself upon the bed filled Naurë, but the strength that had kept her alive for over four-score years made her turn back to the other room. The birds were cooking nicely, filling the stale air of the room with tantalizing scent as fat sizzled into the fire, and they would be done soon. The water had warmed and so Naurë shucked her garb and ripped a square from her shift, dunking it in the water and scrubbing herself enthusiastically. 

With much dismay she saw how the water turned dull and murky from the grime she cleaned from her body, and it was with even more dismay that she remembered that she had drunk none of the water before using it for her bath. Of course, her thirst chose that time to make itself known with some insistence and she sighed, greatly doubting Uglúk would give her more. 

She washed her shift with what was left of the water, and spread it before the fire to dry before pulling her overdress back on. Formerly an excellently-made elvish garment of fine dark-green wool, it was now travel-stained and torn in some places. _But_, she thought as the door was flung open and Uglúk entered, beady pig-eyes roaming over her avidly, _at least it was opaque_. 

***

"I will kill you myself, brother," came the singsong threat from the hunched-over figure beside Haldir. "If we survive, that is… one way or another, prepare to greet Mandos on a day in the near future."

Haldir ignored Orophin's grumblings and instead readjusted the fit of the clothing and armour he'd purloined from a pair of orcs he'd slain earlier in the day, trying not to gag at the immense stench emanating from the well-used and apparently never-washed garments. "You insisted upon coming with me," he said at last when he could not bear his brother's complaints any longer. "I did not force you."

"I could not have let you come into Dol Guldur by yourself!" Orophin protested, sounding thoroughly shocked at the suggestion. "Never have I seen you so determined to do something, so utterly invulnerable to reason. If you cannot be dissuaded from your death, at least you shall not meet it alone."

Haldir turned, deeply touched, and met his brother's gaze. "I thank you for that," he said quietly. "I know you think me foolish to take on this rescue, and if I have any power over it, 'twill not be our deaths that come, but those of they who have taken Naurë."

Orophin lowered his voice as they drew closer to the tower, picking their way through the ankle-deep mud and stinking refuse that littered the ground outside: discarded bones, half-rotted carcasses of beast and Man alike, and a crumpled piece of fabric that looked like Naurë's cloak. "I pray you are right, brother."

Exchanging a worried glance in the gloom of twilight, Haldir barely had time to pull the helm over his blackened face before the stout, iron-bound door atop a steep flight of stone steps slid haltingly open with an agonized groan. _"Kritar urdanog gith hu-na kala, shun nar thos!"_ bellowed an orc from the threshold, beckoning for them to follow with a hand gesture that looked rather cruder than it had to be.

Thus the brothers entered the dismal corridors of Dol Guldur. The smell was worse inside, seeming to have putrefied in the stagnant air, and next to him Haldir heard Orophin choke, before attempting to turn it into a credible coughing fit. He hoped desperately that the orc that led them would find nothing amiss, and thankfully, when Orophin spat onto the floor the orc seemed to gaze approvingly at them. They stepped into a large hall and found themselves surrounded on all sides by orcs, goblins, and Uruk-hai, all shouting and some even engaging in fist-fighting. Haldir hunched more into his borrowed armour and noted with relief that quite a few of the others also wore helms-- he and Orophin did not look at all out of place.

At the head of the hall stood an Uruk with a commanding air, seemingly the leader of this foul company. He raised his hands, and the hall's occupants slowly and grumblingly fell silent. "_Ashdautas Vrasubatlat_,"  he began in an almost companionable tone, and Haldir reckoned it was a greeting. "_Gru nalt-hakal, nar prok_," he continued in the guttural Black Speech of Mordor. The orcs around them shifted and grunted unhappily, and Haldir wished fervently that he could understand what was being said. "_Rogtar gru_?"

Almost immediately, every orc in their vicinity stepped back two paces, leaving Haldir and Orophin conspicuously in the midst of a vast empty area. 

The captain looked at them, repulsive face vaguely curious. _"Shun nar zemaraum_ _nar rramab gru?"_

Orophin, deciding that the appropriate answer would be "no", kept his gaze fixed on the leader's disreputable-looking boots and shook his head whilst grunting unintelligibly. It was apparently the right thing to do, for the captain nodded in satisfaction and strode from the hall, clearly wanting them to follow.

They hazarded another glance at each other, and could see the trepidation in the others' eyes as they marched down an endless-seeming corridor, up a mountainous staircase, and down another corridor. The entire place was lit dimly by the occasional smoking, stinking torch hammered into the dank stone walls. Haldir felt a spark of anger flare to life in him at the thought that Naurë would have to endure such a place. 

The captain stopped at last before an oaken door bound with strips of age-blackened metal and barred with more of the same. With a heave and a grunt, he hoisted the bar from the brackets supporting it. He tossed it carelessly aside and it fell with a empty-sounding clang that echoed down the corridor before turning to them and cuffing them round the heads with a repressive, "_Lat nar flas_."

Haldir shot Orophin a warning glance when he saw his brother's hands move toward his weapons, and reluctantly he let them fall to his sides. The captain pushed open the door and swaggered in, clearly trying to intimidate the small figure that huddled beside the meagre fire. But success was not to be his, for the woman straightened perceptibly at the sound, standing as tall as she could and holding her head proudly.

"You have made yourself comfortable," the captain said in Common, much surprising the elves, and moved to where her shift was drying over the sole chair while Naurë herself stood by the wall, hand twitching uneasily toward the poker which held two small but delicious-smelling birds. "And this is dinner?" he inquired, moving as if to take one of the birds for himself. 

Immediately Naurë stepped between the Uruk-hai and her meal, eyes snapping, and Haldir had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. Ah, yes, this was certainly Naurë, for all that she did not look anywhere near how he recalled. There was a definite resemblance to Lalaith, especially around the mouth and chin and nose, but she was shorter, and her figure had none of the curvy ripeness of her granddaughter's. Her face was pinched from a week of poor eating and little sleep, her hair tumbled in a frightful snarl to her shoulders, and there were lines of strain around her eyes, but the sneer on her lips promised that though she might look like a woman pushed hard, she was not anywhere near broken. 

"It is **my** dinner, if you please, Uglúk," she said, steel in her voice. "You have not seen fit to provide me with decent fare this past week, so you will forgive me, I am sure, if I am… protective of it?"

Uglúk laughed, a sound like a gate with old and rusty hinges, and backed mockingly away. "I will indeed," he agreed, "but I cannot promise the same for your new companions, here." He gestured at Haldir and Orophin, who tried to slouch forward a pace in an intimidating manner. 

Naurë's gaze flicked over them, apprehension clear in them. "You will have me guarded at all times?"

Uglúk nodded. "You cannot think I will trust you to be alone whilst we stay at Dol Guldur," he replied. "But do not fear, they will not rape you." He turned to them, not noticing how she blanched, and cuffed them in the heads once more. "Will you?"

Both shuffled, stared at the ground, and grunted. Uglúk seemed to take that for agreement, as he nodded in satisfaction and turned back to Naurë. "I will return at nightfall, and you will begin creating what our master desires." With that, he left, and the bar fell noisily back into place across the door.

"Ah, and so the reason becomes clear," Naurë murmured and turned to face the fire, staring intently at the flames. "Do you two brutes speak Common or Sindarin?" she asked them, raising her voice slightly but not looking at them.

Haldir removed his helm and pulled his hair free of his collar, where the pale mass had been tucked in. "Both," he replied, and smiled when she spun around at the shocking sound of an elf's mellifluous and lovely voice. Beside him, Orophin pulled off his helm and breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Naurë," Haldir said, "I have come for you."

Trembling, Naurë clasped her hands over her mouth in surprise, and her eyes were enormous as she blinked at first him, then his brother. Then she seemed to regain control of herself and dropped her hands to bunch in her skirts. "That is very well," she replied slowly, "but who are you?"

_Kritar urdanog gith hu-na kala, shun nar thos_ = Captain says all enter castle, you two nutless yobbos

_Ashdautas Vrasubatlat_ = Someday I will kill you (common orcish greeting, considered very friendly)

_Gru nalt-hakal, nar prok_ = Woman upstairs, no touch.

_Rogtar gru_ = Guards for woman?

_Shun nar zemaraum_ _nar rramab gru _= You two not angry no rape woman?

_Lat nar flas_ = You no speak.


	4. Neither Sin Nor Evil

Author's Note: Mad schnoogles to my betas, esp. for getting back to me so soon, thus allowing this impatient author to  publish quickly.

Not Fire, Not Ice – Neither Sin Nor Evil

"Naurë," Haldir said, "I have come for you."

Trembling, her hands clasped over her mouth in surprise, Naurë's eyes were enormous as she blinked at first him, then his brother. Then she seemed to regain control of herself and dropped her hands to bunch in her skirts. "That is very well," she replied slowly, "but who are you?"

He blinked, then smiled—how like Naurë to jest, even at a time like this. Rúmil and Lalaith had told him that she suffered gaps in her memory, but surely she would not have forgotten **him**? "This is my brother Orophin; you have not met."

She looked to Orophin and nodded a greeting, which he returned, before meeting Haldir's gaze once more. "Glad I am to know your brother, but still I do not know **your** name, elf," she replied. "Unless…" Naurë studied him a long moment; he was quite the handsomest thing she could ever recall seeing, and a memory rose unbidden from the depths of her mind. "The dwarf," she said slowly. "The dwarf, and your bath…"

Haldir blinked again, realizing she was not jesting—she truly did not remember him but for one of his more embarrassing moments, and a very pretty flush stole over his cheeks. "That is what you recall of me, Naurë?" he demanded. "A score and ten years we have been friends, and you remember **that**?"

"Haldir," Naurë said, addressing him for the first time in her memory. The name felt familiar on her lips, and several more things burst into her mind. "You are foolish to risk yourself to pursue me. Think you that your death for mine would serve anyone well?" By the time she was done, her hands were on her hips and she was advancing upon him, eyes narrowed. "Never did I think an elf could be an imbecile, but ever am I willing to learn new things."

"Imbecile? For wishing to keep you alive, instead of allowing your shrew's tongue to perish with you? Perhaps I am," he snapped back defensively. 

They glared a long moment at each other, until Naurë burst into tears, flinging her arms around Haldir's waist and weeping into his chest. "Thank you," she sobbed. "Thank you for not leaving me here to rot."

Haldir turned a triumphant look to his brother over Naurë's disheveled head, only to find Orophin watching them, his expression one of comprehension, as if he'd just learnt the answer to a long-asked question. "Tend the food," he directed his brother, shepherding Naurë toward the chair, but she refused to release him. Sighing, he merely stood there and allowed her to strangle him. "What am I to do with you?" he murmured, more to himself than to her. "It is very strange indeed to see you look younger than Lalaith. I had become accustomed to grey hair, wrinkles, and a reedy voice."

His comment irked her, as had been his intent, and she pulled back from him with a sniffle to resume glaring. "Sorry I am to disappoint you," Naurë replied haughtily. "The next time I am poisoned near to death, I will be sure the repercussions are not anything that might surprise you."

Orophin made an odd sound behind them, and Haldir looked up, expecting to see his brother sneering, but instead he appeared to be straining mightily to swallow a laugh. "The birds are done," Orophin said, lips still twitching with mirth, "but there is naught on which to serve them, I fear."

"It is of no consequence," Naurë murmured, regaining her feet and moving to the hearth. "Will you want any? I fear there is not much to tide two large elves."

"No, it is yours," Haldir said firmly. "We have provisions aplenty; if you are still hungry after the birds, we have lembas and apples, as well."

"I doubt I will be able to stay awake to eat lembas and apples," Naurë said after she finished the first bird and licked her fingers clean of the grease. She sat on the floor, cross-legged, enjoying the heat of the fire as it blazed at her back. "I know to blame Haldir's sheer stupidity for being here, Orophin, but admit puzzlement as to why we are honoured with your presence."

Orophin grinned. "Stupidity seems to be hereditary, Naurë, for I am here for the same reason as Haldir: for love. I could no more let my brother attempt this insane plan of his alone than he could fail to attempt your rescue."

Naurë's fine brown eyes gazed at him a long moment, memories slowly marching back to their rightful place in her mind, before traveling to his brother. "This is not the first time you have rescued me," she said, and it was a statement, not a question. 

Haldir nodded. "When we journeyed to Rhûn, you conceived of an immensely foolish plan to liberate some orcish arrows from their owners, for you wished to study the poisons applied to them." He glowered at the memory. "To this day, I do not understand what you were thinking, Naurë."

"I feared for your life!" she burst out. "I could not stand the idea of you coming to harm…"

He rolled his eyes, supremely disdainful. "And since when am I so delicate that attacking orcs will bring me to grief?" he demanded. "Had I not protected you adequately throughout our travels of the East?"

Naurë leapt to her feet, forgetting in her agitation to eat the second bird. "It is not that," she whispered, arms around herself more for comfort than warmth. Her gaze fixed on a guttering candle on the wall, and she became lost in her memories as they returned piecemeal to her. "It was so soon after I had realized… I could not bear the thought, not even the thought, do you understand?"

Haldir exchanged a glance with his brother, but Orophin did not look anywhere near as puzzled as Haldir felt. "What did you realize?" he asked her, but she did not answer. "Naurë?" He stood and went to her, touching her arm as his concern grew.

She spun around, eyes unnaturally bright. "I am tired," she told him. "I am going to bed." She slipped from the room to the tiny bedchamber behind the curtain, the velvet swishing into place after her the only sound as Haldir stood watching her, mouth slightly agape.

"I am confused," he admitted when he turned back to Orophin, then frowned to see his brother finishing off the forgotten bird. 

"Not an unusual condition for you, _muindor_," Orophin replied cheerfully, licking his fingertips and grinning up at his scowling brother.

***

When next Uglúk appeared, he tossed Haldir and Orophin from the room by the scruffs of their necks, telling them to return in an hour's time. They hied themselves off with great reluctance and managed to slip away to meet with the others of their party, albeit briefly, to stock up on plenty more food for Naurë and themselves. 

They returned to find Naurë sprawled across the floor and rubbing her face where Uglúk had just struck her, the skin already darkening in a bruise. Haldir had to clench his fist very, very hard indeed to keep from beating the Uruk to death where he stood grinning down at the small woman he'd hit. 

"You have your instructions," Uglúk said to her before turning to the elves. "She is to create the remedy, as much as she can with what is here," he told them. "Make sure she does, or you can… coerce her. Women are usually very happy to avoid rapine." With a pleased smile revealing brown fangs and blackened gums, he left them, bolting the door.

They immediately stripped off their smelly armour and Haldir went to Naurë, kneeling beside her and turning her face carefully to the fading light streaming through the tall window. "Your skin is not broken," he told her, "but there will be a bruise." He shifted her to lean against his chest, freeing a hand to cup her cheek. "I will heal you." Closing his eyes, he concentrated on mending the damaged flesh.

He extended his senses, reaching into her being, and felt the throbbing pain she suffered. Carefully, he drew it out of her and into his hand, feeling the ache flow and ebb, slowly climbing until it spread throughout his arm. When the last of it had been absorbed from her, he opened his eyes to find her watching him, a mysterious little smile on her lips.

"What is it?" he asked, dropping his hand and shaking his arm vigourously to get the blood flowing and push out the pain. "Why do you stare at me so? You know I become nervous when you are amused and I do not know why."

"Indeed," she said, "It is a wise philosophy." She braced her hand on the top of his golden head to help her stand. "Ah, these old bones," she groaned dramatically, grinning when he pushed her hand away and smoothed down his hair with a frown.

"You are not going to tell me, are you?" he demanded. 

Naurë only continued to smile. "Thank you for your healing, Haldir." He sighed and pulled a packet of food from under his orcish armour, passing it to her. "Ooh, apples!" she cried with delight, and bit deeply into one, closing her eyes in bliss at the cool tart fruit in her mouth. When she swallowed her first mouthful, she spoke.

"Uglúk has told me that his master has directed him to move me south, to a fortress long held by those faithful to him. I am to create as much of my remedy as I can—" here, she smirked at the supplies crowding the shelves over the long table, "—in a week's time, and then South shall we sail."

Haldir raised not one, but both eyebrows at that. "Sail?" he asked, incredulous. "If you are to sail, that means you are headed not even for Mordor, but for…" His voice trailed off at the implication.

"For Umbar," she confirmed, standing to toss her apple core in the small rubbish heap she'd started under the table. "Looks like 'twill be a pirate's life for me," she commented, and laughed.

"This is no laughing matter, Naurë!" Haldir told her, voice low and controlled. 

"Of course it is!" she insisted. "Tis a grand adventure, and at least I shall see Harad ere I die. Never did I think I might, but now all things are possible." She slanted a saucy look at him. "Are they not, Guardian?"

He blinked at her in disbelief. "You are—are you **flirting** with me, Naurë? Is our situation not dire enough, with death around every corner?"

"You never minded my flirting before," Naurë shot back, hands on hips.

"Before, you were not…" His voice trailed off as he studied her in earnest for the first time since finding her in this dismal place. Her face was not classically beautiful, he thought; she was no Arwen, to be sure, nor had she Lalaith's fineness of features, but her eyes were large and dark like buckwheat honey, her chin stubborn and her nose slightly tilted. It was an appealing face, an endearing one-- one he could not reconcile with his old friend. That was the thing, wasn't it? She was no longer old; did not the firm flesh and dark hair confirm it? She was no longer old, and he realized that some boundary between them was gone now, gone forever.

She cocked her head to the side. "Not what?" she asked. "Not a talented healer? Not a stalwart companion? Not a friend for whom you risked death time and again, and who has risked it for you?"

"Before, it was a jest. Now, it is… different," he ground out between clenched teeth. "Do not push me further."

"But, Haldir," Naurë purred, "You know how dearly I prize any ability I have in stirring you."

Drawing on his millennia of patience, Haldir turned away and went to rummage through the medicinal items. "You plan on creating a poison, do you not?" He picked up a jar of what was labeled, "dwarf spleens" and grimaced, setting it down hastily.

"Cold, cold," Naurë murmured, coming to stand beside him. "Such a cold elf." Looking up at him, she dimpled a moment before becoming businesslike, plucking another jar from his hands. "Yes, indeed, poison. I believe I know just the right one—slow-acting, so they will not suspect they are dying until it is far too late, and 'twill manifest differently in each. Weeping hives for one, vomiting blood for another."

She grinned up at him. "It even tastes good, and is pretty," she added. "People will ever believe that poisons should be ugly and foul-tasting. 

"I knew an elleth in the Second Age who was much the same," Orophin said nostalgically from his side of the room as Haldir sighed, obviously having heard this tale many times before. "Lovely enough to make one's eyes ache, with a taste sweeter than nectar, but ah, a more poisonous nature could not be found north of Mordor, that is for sure."

"And what was her fate?" Naurë asked, curious.

Orophin smiled beatifically. "I married her." He sighed then. "Ever have the elves in our family sought totally unsuitable females. Why, look at Rúmil."

"Careful, warden," Naurë told him, wagging a finger at him playfully. "I will not have you speak ill of my Lalaith."

"I meant no disrespect, Grandmother," Orophin replied, standing and bowing deferentially. It was totally facetious, and made her giggle. 

"And after you married her? Have you children?" Naurë began to gather some ingredients together: yarrow, burdock root, cherry bark, elder blossoms, peach leaves, rainwater. "Not enough," she muttered, shaking the nearly-empty bottle of rainwater. "Hmph."

"None," Orophin replied. "For 'tis difficult to get children on an elleth who will not allow your touch, even were I able to bear her presence."

Naurë stopped fussing with her supplies a moment, and turned to face him. He was as tall as Haldir, more slender through the shoulders but with the same air of immense capability and danger. His face was a wonder to behold, though not as handsome as Rúmil's. She grinned at him. "The more fool she, then," Naurë told him with a wink, delighted to watch him blush faintly, before dumping all her ingredients in a mortar and beginning to mash them with the ancient wooden pestle. 

"If you are quite done reducing my brother to even further idiocy…" Haldir commented with a sour glance at Orophin. "What are you making?" The sweet, faintly medicinal scent of the herbs rose from the mortal and his nostrils twitched to smell them. 

"Soap for the hair and body," she replied. "I shall die if I cannot wash myself properly." She thrust the tools at him. "Here, keep pounding it fine," she directed, and went to set up the fragile glass that comprised the distillery. Snatching a brand from the fireplace, she lit the pannikin of oil under a beaker and dumped the whole runny mess in before setting another beaker under the end of the tube to catch whatever precious fluids would condense and drip there.

"While that is working," she said, coming to drop into the chair by Orophin, "We must discuss what we will do. I think that I shall make my poison, whilst you shall go back to your elves and stay hidden. I shall press Uglúk to have his orcs take the poison, and when most are weakened or dead, then shall you and yours come forward." She leaned back and surveyed the two of them with satisfaction. "What say you to this?"

Orophin looked about to agree with her, but Haldir's mouth was set in a firm line that she now recalled meant nothing good. "I will not leave you here alone," he said flatly. "You saw how willing Uglúk is to allow your rape; at least if we are here, he will think the deed committed, but you will remain safe. If we go, we shall be replaced, and there will be no feigning that sad fate."

Naurë was silent, recognizing the truth of his words. "I just do not wish you to be in danger," she said sadly. "Can not one of the others replace you?"

"No," Haldir said with a certain glint in his eye that spoke of a great battle to come if she pursued that line of thought, watching as she flounced in her chair and turned away from him to face Orophin. "That is not nearly as amusing as it was when you were old," he informed her.

"I am still old," she replied severely, turning back to stare at him. "I simply do not look it. Much like you, you haughty creature."

"Ah, but you are not an elf," he replied serenely, as if that answered everything.

She snorted and stood to check on her distilling concoction. "Might as well be, for I shall live forever, thanks to my remedy." She eyed Haldir beadily as he sat on the chair she'd just vacated. "Unless I weary of your tiresome ways and allow myself to perish merely to escape you."

"Do you two bicker like this all the time?" Orophin interrupted before Haldir could respond. "Tis a miracle you can accomplish aught beside killing each other, if so."

Naurë watched Haldir closely, waiting for him to speak, but he would not, and simply stared back. Finally, she threw back her head and laughed. "We are usually not this… severe with each other," she admitted. "But this is a tense time. We are not at our best, are we, _meldiramin_?"

He sniffed. "You speak only for yourself, Naurë."

Satisfied with the amount of elixir in the beaker, she took it and crossed to where the daily bucket of water squatted by the fire, warming slowly, and dropped an affectionate kiss on the crown of his head as she passed. "Be that as it may," was all she said, and dimpled at him again as she disappeared into the tiny bedchamber. 

_meldisamin_ = my friend (fem.)

_muindor_ = brother

_meldiramin_ = my friend (masc.)


	5. Not All of the Strength of the Ocean

Not Fire, Not Ice – Not All of the Strength of the Ocean

Naurë labored all that week, with the elves' assistance, to create the poison she would give to Uglúk for his orcs. As they worked, she plied Orophin with questions: what had Haldir been like as a child (inquisitive and demanding), had Haldir always been haughty and difficult (yes), how was Haldir as a march-warden (efficient and deadly), until that elf's dark scowl threatened to obliterate the bright sun streaming through the narrow windows.

For his part, Orophin ignored his brother's increasingly irate mood and kept up with the woman quite well, prompting her to tell him her life's tale until nearly all her memory had returned to her. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed one afternoon as they worked side by side, the poison's misleadingly pleasant scent of fresh greenery and flowers perfuming the air, and Haldir glanced at her curiously. "I just remembered something else," she said, colour rising to her cheeks and intriguing him, as Naurë was a bold woman and rarely reduced to a blush.

"What memory could bring you to such a state?" Orophin inquired, pushing a cork stopper into a newly–filled flask of poison and setting it aside before taking up an empty one.

Naurë stammered a few excuses but the elves would not leave her in peace without explaining. "I just remembered… relations," she admitted, refusing to meet their eyes, but keeping her own fixedly on the jet of spring-green poison spilling into another flask.

Both were puzzled by the word and her behaviour until Haldir remembered that Men ever tended to be squeamish about that most natural of acts. "Oh, you mean joining," he clarified for his brother, who gave a soft "ah" of comprehension.

"A fond memory, I hope?" Orophin asked with a mock leer, making Naurë laugh and her blush to fade a little.

"Er, yes, sometimes," she replied, still a little shy, and then frowned even as they wondered over her use of the word 'sometimes'. "Hm," she wondered as another thought struck her.

"Now what?" Haldir demanded. He felt distinctly out-of-sorts at the idea of Naurë coupling with anyone, especially if her memories of it were only occasionally fond ones. It was not due to jealousy on his part, he was positive of that, because he was not a jealous elf in general, nor of Naurë's husband in particular. Certainly not.

"I wonder if I shall have to lose my virginity again, now that my body is renewed!" she exclaimed, apprehension clear on her face. "Twas not all that happy an incident the first go-round, and I am not anticipating it a second time."

Both elves frowned in puzzlement. "We do not understand your meaning," Haldir said at last, putting the filled flasks in a wooden box before carrying it easily over to the door. "Why would your first joining be unpleasant? It should be a time of great joy."

Naurë quirked a brow at him. "There is pain the first time, and some blood, as well," she explained to them. "Is it not so with elleths?"

"I have deflowered but one, and she evidenced no discomfort…" Orophin mused

"It is not a place accustomed to… use," she finished lamely, face flaming once more.

They exchanged a look of outrage. "Blood? And pain?" Orophin demanded. "It sounds barbaric. Surely there is a way around such unpleasantness?"

Naurë smirked at him, her shyness gone as she rallied once more. "If you are able to discover such a way, my fine elf-lord, **do** come and find me, will you? For I would be most interested in a demonstration."

And then it was Orophin's turn to blush. 

~*~

Finally the day had come to leave Dol Guldur. Naurë suspected that Uglúk would test the "remedy" on her and so took a sip of the genuine remedy ahead of time, nullifying the poison in her system. Uglúk seemed great disappointed when she did not collapse, but bore his chagrin

The elf-brothers, in their orc-guises, dragged her from the room in which she'd been closeted that past week, leading her down to a crude cart and tossing her in. Haldir was almost too gentle, and would have roused suspicion had not Orophin played his part to perfection—his grasp on her arm was just this side of bruising, and his force when he chucked her into the cart was nearly painful. 

"You enjoy this roughness far too much, my elf-lord," she hissed in his ear. He only smirked at her from beneath his helm, then at Haldir when his brother stiffened and glowered from beneath the jutting visor of his own helm.

"There is much to be said for a bit of force on occasion," Orophin replied with a smirk. "Unless you wish for our ruse to be discovered?" He shoved his Haldir toward the cart before clambering in himself, sitting proprietarily close to Naurë. 

Haldir opened his mouth to reply but Uglúk shouted, "We ride!" and the elf climbed onto the seat and took up the reins, slapping them on the back of the sad beast that was to pull them. 

Day and night, night and day, they travelled, stopping neither for rest nor food. Once they reached the swift-flowing Anduin, they exchanged carts for boats and continued their southward trek. The boats were of considerable size and easily held ten orcs in each one. When the wind was strong, central masts were raised and sails unfurled, but when they were becalmed out came the oars. 

Across the Anduin lay the mellyrn of Lothlorien, gleaming gold and tantalizingly just out of reach, and Haldir's longing for it was nearly palpable. Sensing his distress, Naurë reached over and pressed her hand over his. _She always could tell how he fared,_ Haldir thought, and the notion comforted him. He dared to turn his hand palm-up, lacing their fingers together for a brief moment before pulling away and turning his attention back to his oar and the swift-moving waters they traversed. 

"Grown fond of your captors, have you, healer?" Uglúk asked from the boat next to them. "Were I a cruel Uruk, I would have them both killed, just to cause you pain." His nasty grin and the way he lovingly fondled the bone-handled pommel of his long knife did not provide much comfort.

Haldir stiffened beside her, and Naurë felt her heart plummet to her stomach but forced herself to stare back at him without quailing. "Do as you wish, I care not," she snapped, hoping her bluff would not be called. 

But luck was not to be hers, it would seem. "It occurs to me," Uglúk said slowly, "that never have I seen the faces of these, your favoured guards." He ran speculative eyes over the 'orcs' flanking her so closely, noting how they tensely they held themselves. "I would see those faces now."

Stricken, Naurë held her breath and watched as Haldir and Orophin slowly reached to unbuckle the straps that held on their disguises. If they revealed themselves, they would be killed. If they did not, they would still be killed. Was there no other option?

"I am unwell," she declared, then punched Haldir on the arm. "You, help me to the boat-side, that I might be sick over it." Immediately realizing she had something planned, he stood and took her arm, hauling to toward the water, strong legs making the boat shift as if in rough water. 

"Clumsy oaf!" Naurë scolded as she lurched with exaggeration back and forth. "You," she motioned to Orophin, "help me keep my feet, else I shall pitch overboard!" Orophin obediently stood and took her other arm. 

"I do not care if you are sick all over every orc in this boat," Uglúk growled. "I will see the faces of your guards!" He stood and came toward them, hands outstretched to wrench the encompassing helms from their heads.

Naurë pretended to stumble and slammed herself into Haldir with all the force her slight body could provide; it was not a moment before he tumbled over the boat-side and into the river. "Ai!" Naurë cried in feigned distress, lurching back in the other direction and ramming into Orophin. His stance was firmer than Haldir's had been, but he knew now what she intended, and allowed her to knock him into the water as well.

Uglúk howled in frustration and punched an orc to relieve it. It seemed an unsuccessful tactic, for not a moment later his fist was connecting with Naurë's cheek, sending her reeling back into the row of orcs sitting behind her. Dropping to her knees, ignoring the pain that throbbed through her face, Naurë clung to the side of the boat, avidly searching for some sign of the elves.

It was not long in coming. From the cover of trees lining the riverbank burst a group of Silvan elves, bows drawn menacingly as two heads—two pale blond heads—surfaced but a short way from shore. 

"Elves?" Uglúk shouted in disbelief. "Your guards were elves?" He raised his hand to strike her once again but found an arrow piercing it before he could even begin to swing it toward her. Staring in amazement at the dark blood coursing from his new wound, he shouted, "Archers!"

Naurë held her breath and prayed to Elbereth, to Manwë, to Iluvatar himself to keep Haldir, Orophin, and the rest of the elves safe as a volley of black orcish arrows was loosed in their direction. One came perilously close to Orophin's head but he managed to duck out of the way at the last moment.

Uglúk himself snatched a bow from the hands of a nearby orc and aimed carefully at Haldir. Naurë leapt to her feet and once more used her body as a battering ram, launching herself at the Uruk-hai and knocking him off balance just long enough for Haldir to make it to shore and be pulled from the water by the other elves. Orophin followed a moment later, and both wiped the water from their faces in time to see Uglúk backhand Naurë so viciously she flew across the boat to land in the laps of two particularly large orcs, who immediately began to fondle and grope her now-unconscious form.

Haldir let out a wordless cry of rage and made as if to dive back into the water once more, but Orophin and Brethil restrained him. "Release me," he demanded in a hoarse whisper as the Anduin and swiftly-rowing orcs took the small fleet of boats away from the. "I must go to Naurë, they have put their hands on her. I cannot think on what they will do to her, now they know we were with her this last week. Release me!"

He struggled harder, his eyes growing wild as the boats began to move out of range, but his brother and the Imladris elf would not relinquish their grasps on him. 

"It is madness to try, _muindor_," Orophin told Haldir. "You will meet your death as surely as she will meet hers." 

Haldir went still then. "She will not die," he said calmly, seeming to have returned to his senses. "I will never allow that to pass." He pulled free of their slackened grips and began to walk toward the mellyrn. "If you will not help me, I will go alone, but mark me—I will go."

Orophin exchanged a look with the other elf, and sighed. "What do you do now?" he asked tiredly.

"To get a boat of my own," came the distant reply. "I will be after them as soon as I might." Haldir paused, turned. "Will you be joining me once more, _muindor_?

Orophin heaved a second sigh. "Yes, you accursed elf," he said. "I will be joining you once more."

~*~

Naurë knew that Haldir was coming for her once more; it was not some special talent or extra sense of his presence in the distance. No, it was just bone-deep certainty of his character: even more than he was stubborn, he was devoted. Nothing but death would keep him from rescuing her. Without that devotion and mule-stubborn streak a fathom deep in his elven soul, he would not be even now pressing closer to his quarry, but then, without them she would not love him so dearly. 

And love him she did. Memories of her life had taken their leisurely time returning to her, but on that first evening Haldir and Orophin had revealed themselves to her, she had remembered one thing with the perfect clarity of Elrond's finest crystal: Haldir o Lórien was the love of her life, the love of her death, the love of all her being and existence. 

After she had retired for the night, in the narrow shaft of moonlight that pierced the slit of a window Naurë disrobed slowly, feeling both numb and anxious. She'd left her shift in the other room, but could not bear in her distress and the barrage of memories to look upon Haldir another moment, and so slipped, shivering and nude, between the aged and yellowing sheets of the lumpy bed. Still, after a week of sleeping on the ground, it felt like heaven itself, and she sighed in relief.

She had remembered. 

Remembered the first moment she'd met Haldir, and thought him a humorless stump; remembered how she'd come to rue her hasty opinion as he had proven himself an excellent companion and foil to her own fiery temperament throughout their journey from Imladris to Thranduil's palace in Mirkwood, and from there all the way to Rhûn, far in the East. 

Most clearly, she remembered how she had fallen in love with him, and her great shame and embarrassment of that sad fact. A woman of sixty-three years, a widow, a grandmother, and she loved an elf. It was beyond ludicrous, but her desire for him had burned within her, a living flame of aching devotion that had caused her near-fatal mistake, almost getting him killed when she snuck into an orc camp to steal arrows for study, instead of allowing him to attack the camp as he had wished.

He had forgiven her in spite of her folly, and their friendship had grown, as had her love, but she knew nothing could ever come of it. She was old, grey and wrinkled, with a drooping bosom and heavy backside—it was a perversion to even think of such a match between herself and the gloriously handsome and eternally youthful elf.

And then there was the matter of her mortality. Even should, by some miracle, Haldir wish to be with her, they could have but a few years together before her death by necessity would drive them apart. No, she would spare him that misery, and herself the mortification of rejection, and never mention it. She buried her feelings for Haldir tenderly, deeply, within her heart. Sometimes it could escape its tight confines, but for the greatest part Naurë kept it well-hidden, and none had even begun to suspect that the flavour of her love for Haldir was not what it appeared. 

Naurë stifled a groan and rolled to her other side, but could not suppress a cough at the little cloud of dust that rose from the pillow at her movement. Frowning, she sat up, heedless that the coverlet dropped to her waist, and began beating the pillow with enthusiasm as much to relieve her frustrations as to remove the dust.

Haldir pushed open the curtain that separated the bedchamber from the other room. "Naurë, are you well?" The moonlight touched his golden hair with streaks of pure mithril, and his eyes, bluer than the midday sky, glittered with the reflection of _Ithil_ itself. Naurë found herself gasping for breath in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with dusty bed linens.

She clutched the pillow to her chest, staring at him in horror. "I am fine," she told him, voice raspy from inhaling dust. "Go, for I am not dressed."

He could not think why that was of consequence, and frowned. "Surely after thirty years we are beyond such trivialities?"

She held the pillow more tightly to her. "Please, Haldir, go."

Her insistence puzzled him, and he took a step into the room, studying her. The moonlight slanted over Naurë from shoulders to waist, sharing its pallor with her, and he could see the slender bones of her clavicles, their hollows delicately shadowed in the night. Soft breasts plumped out on either side of the skimpy pillow she held, and the curve of her hips rising from the crumpled sheet drew his eyes before they returned slowly to meet hers.

 "You are well?" he asked again.

Naurë nodded, making her hair move across her shoulders. "I am well," she confirmed, her voice rather thin and nervous-sounding to his elven ears, but he stepped back to the curtain. 

"I am just outside if you need me, _meldisamin_," he told her, and was gone. 

_Need him?_ As soon as the curtain fell back into place, Naurë fell backwards to the bed and covered her head with the pillow. Her mind whirled and her heart ached—she had seen his slow perusal of her naked form, had seen the moment he realized she was no longer aged and homely. Curling on her side, she wrapped her arms around the pillow and buried her face in it. How was she to return to the scolding, motherly persona she'd adopted around him when the basis for it no longer existed?

Naurë's breath caught as she realized the implications of what she'd just thought. Three decades ago, she had been matronly, lined and grey, with her death looming ever closer. The sheer lunacy of considering a match between them had been all that had kept her from admitting her love. There were no such boundaries any longer. Naurë was young and pretty once more, and as long as she could continue to find athelas blessed by a true king to complete her remedy, neither illness nor death would hold sway over her any longer. 

Now that those obstacles were gone, could Haldir possibly share Naurë's feelings? Would he be repelled by the idea of taking his old friend as a lover? A deeper issue floated to the surface of her mind, a memory long hidden even before Lalaith had poisoned her: that of Naurë's husband, Hu. 

Dead for half a century, Hu had neither been faithful nor troubled himself overmuch to hide his infidelities, and his bastards roamed the streets of Bree with his same cocky stride and rakish smile. Would that she had been more resistant to those things herself, in her susceptible youth! _But what was done, was done, and she had had two fine children from him, so her union with Hu was not completely a disaster, _she reminded herself sternly.

What Naurë ever failed to accomplish, however, was convincing herself that there was naught wrong with her as a woman. She knew she was of a brisk disposition, impatient and bold, but was that not evidence of a passionate nature? She had a fine figure, and a sharp mind—Elrond himself had complimented her on the quickness of her wit, a great compliment—so why, then, might Hu have turned to others for his satisfaction?

Even as she stared northward up the Anduin, a week later, knowing that somewhere upstream an elf was hastening his way toward her, she felt a decades-old pang of shame and hurt at Hu's betrayals and felt die the tiny spurt of hope within her. Haldir would find her, would rescue her, would avenge her, but she doubted very much he would ever love her as a woman—only as a friend.

With a sigh, she slumped against the side of the boat and bowed her head. It was now four days since she had knocked Haldir and Orophin overboard, and Uglúk had made her pay dearly for her transgression: they had given her naught to eat, and only what water she could cup in hasty hands from the rushing river. During the day while they slept she had chanced to sip tiny amounts from the phial of her remedy she kept hidden beneath the bindings she wore round her bosom, and had enough for several more weeks, so did not fear to starve, but she could feel her body weakening as the days wore onward. How was she to help Haldir save her if she could barely walk?

Uglúk had spoken of Rauros, and the need to portage the boats past the dangerous waterfalls—perhaps the elves would be able to catch up to the orc-band at that time. She had to have faith in Haldir—never had he disappointed her or failed her before, and never would he in the future, of that she was sure. And his brother seemed to be of the same mettle—with the two of them in pursuit, she did not doubt them.

Reassured once more, she huddled deeper into her now-shabby gown and closed her eyes, allowing sleep to claim her.

_muindor_ = brother

_Ithil_ = the moon****


	6. Not All of the Heat of the Sun

Author's Note: If you need help imagining Pelargir, I've a single word for you: Tortuga, but without all the class and elegance.

Not Fire, Not Ice – Not All of the Heat of the Sun

By the time they arrived at Pelargir, even Uglúk was exhausted. 

He had set a cruel pace, resting only a few scant hours during the day before pressing southward once more. He, too, had sensed their vulnerability to attack whilst needing to portage their boats past the falls at Rauros and had permitted none to sleep or even rest for the entire three-day hike through the hilly range framing the falls. Eating had been done on the march, and Naurë suspected that some of the Orcs had figured a way to sleep whilst walking.

After sitting so long in the boat, it was almost a relief to be able to walk again, even if it was never quite fast enough for Uglúk. He insisted on leading her about by a rope tied round her wrists, tugging whenever she was too distracted to prepare herself, and causing her to tumble to the ground. Unlike the Orcs, however, whenever she fell the Uruk-hai merely stood and watched her, his flat mud-coloured eyes assessing, searching, and utterly cold. Naurë shivered to think of what he would have done to her if he had not been under orders to keep her unharmed.

Back in the boats, once past the falls, Uglúk kept his Orcs silent with well-placed blows to the head and reduction of rations until the only sound, day or night, was that of oars dipping into the waters of the Anduin, over and over until she felt like screaming just to hear something else. At the deserted city of Osgiliath, the few guards stationed there were easily dispatched by the archers, the twang of their bowshots the only sound in the inky night as their company slipped by in the velvet darkness. 

Naurë was mostly left to herself. She washed herself frequently, and even managed to scrub her clothing over the side of the boat as well. Her meals consisted of river-water to drink and whatever fish an Orc might deign to skewer on the point of his weapon as they sailed by. Raw fish was not to her preference but it far surpassed anything else they might offer her, and so she took it eagerly. 

They passed the range of Emyn Arnen, its peaks rising gently in comparison to the Ephel Duath jutting cruelly into the sky behind them. Were she in better company on that fine spring day, Naurë would have quite enjoyed herself as she sat back in the boat, feeling the play of wind in her hair and the caress of sunlight on her face. The pallor of old age and illness had given way in recent days to a pleasing warm tint to her skin, and when she brushed out her hair with her fingers, reddish lights were to be found in the wayward strands. Haldir had ever scolded her for her fondness of travel, and she supposed he was correct, if she could find pleasure even as a prisoner. 

Naurë wondered what had become of him; truly, she had expected him to have come for her by now. She knew he was following them, and had an arrow from his very bow thudded into the boat by her hand at the moment, it would not have shocked her. But it was nearly a fortnight since that daring day when she'd shoved him and his doughty brother into the Anduin, and there had been no evidence whatsoever of his pursuit. Were she a different woman, and Haldir a different elf, she might have thought he had abandoned her to this strange fate.

But she was as she was, and he was as he was. She would never lose faith in him, and Haldir o Lòrien would never leave her to perish amongst strangers. He had not done so thirty years ago in Rhûn, when he and his soldiers were outnumbered ten to one and it would have been easier to desert the annoying old woman who'd gotten them into that trouble. He would not do so now, not after their friendship was sealed and set. 

Naurë turned and stared upriver toward where she knew he was. It was possible that one of the brothers had been injured during their escape; had not Haldir let out a fearsome howl as the Orc-band sailed away with her in their meaty clutches? A sick feeling swelled within her at the thought of Haldir in pain, without her to tend him. But perhaps he still had a bit of the remedy she had given him? Naurë hoped he had the wit to remember it, and use it if there were need.

It was with great relief that the haven-port of Pelargir was spotted in the distance, and anticipation grew with every moment they drew closer. Pelargir had been a mighty city in the Second Age, but now was faded and rather shabby, Naurë thought that night as they disembarked and stood for the first time in a week on dry land. Greasy torches flickered in rusting sconces along the quay, their stench carrying easily on the maritime breeze, and the dock beneath her feet creaked alarmingly. Pelargir had been in the control of the Haradhrim for many years by this point, forgotten and neglected by Stewards who had given it up as irretrievable.

Uglúk jolted her from her ruminations by jerking on the lead he had once more fastened round her wrists. Fatigue was edging onto his countenance, and his patience had thinned to near-nothing. "_Baj fushaum jashat ob goi_," he barked at the others before dragging Naurë behind him. 

The streets teemed with all manner of life. It was odd to hear the Black Speech spoken by human tongues, but it seemed as common as the Westron and Haradhrim languages that tripped easily from the lips of all and sundry. Naurë felt conspicuous in her pallor; this city was overwhelmingly populated by Orcs and swarthy Southrons. She wished for a veil, or that her cloak had a hood; anything to shield her light skin and bright hair from curious, covetous eyes. The inhabitants of Pelargir grew bolder the farther she and Uglúk penetrated into its centre; the Uruk had had to kill no fewer than four admirers pressing for Naurë's purchase by the time they reached their destination: a tavern named "The One-Eyed Narakshi". 

"You will sit, and not speak," he hissed in her ear whilst she flinched back from the spray of malodorous spittle. "If you do aught, I make you sorry in ways you cannot conceive."

Naurë wondered idly what those ways could be, as she had ever prided herself on an excellent imagination and she could well conceive some truly horrific methods of torture, and allowed Uglúk to shove her toward a stool in the corner, beside the fireplace. She held out her hands toward the flames, grateful for their warmth as she had learned that even in the south, nights were cold. Why were they here, in this tavern? 

The One-Eyed Narakshi was a low-ceilinged, smoky place with tiny, grimy windows that looked to have never once been opened for fresh air, if the smell of unwashed bodies and orcish pong told her anything. Spilled ale (and, she hoped, naught else) make the floor unpleasantly sticky beneath her travel-stained boots, and the guttural grunts of the establishment's non-human clientele filled the air. Occasionally, conversation was punctuated by the sound of a lone woman's voice, its higher pitch clearly carrying over the lower rumblings of the males. 

"Why are we here?" Naurë dared to inquire, confident that he would not strike her in public. Alas that her captor was an Uruk-hai, and felt his honour compromised by the fact of his captive speaking; his backhand knocked her from her stool onto the floor and she watched numbly as the drop of blood spilling from her newly-split lip sizzled on the hearth, foaming a little before cooking to a sickly grey glob.

"I thought you were not to harm her," drawled an amused voice, and Naurë froze at the sound of it. Turning her head with excruciating slowness, she first saw a pair of feet firmly planted right before her face. She looked up past long, strong legs in snug braies, elaborately knotted belt and wide chest encased in a rather posh tunic to a face she had once thought she'd never see again.

"Coru," Naurë whispered in awe and relief, and scrambled to her feet, gaze never dropping from his. How could she have forgotten… Coru, son of Ûra, was a pirate of evident renown as far from his birthplace of Bree as Minhiriath, where Lalaith had had to travel for a king to bless the athelas that would save Naurë's life. The very sound of his name struck fear into heart of no lesser a man than Heleg, king of Minhiriath.

Coru, son of Ûra, who was herself daughter of one Naurë of Bree, healer and apprentice to Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell.

Her own grandson.

Naurë sagged against him in relief. The young man stared a long moment at her, obviously surprised at her recognition of him. Ever a quick one, Coru quickly wrapped his arms around her and used his own body to support hers. "I want her for the night," he told Uglúk. Naurë peeked from under her lashes to find the Uruk staring at them in horror and disbelief.

"No," Uglúk said flatly. "She is not to be harmed." He seemed supremely unconcerned with the fact that not a minute before he'd sent her reeling with his mighty slap.

"I… I want to be with him," Naurë ventured, turning what she hoped was an adoring look up at her grandson's face and caressing his shoulder with her hand. "Twould be no hardship for me."

Uglúk stared a moment more, and then his brown-black face split into a hideous grin. "So much for the elves, eh, _shatraug-gru_?" he asked, delighted by his own wit. "I can see they were not enough to satisfy you, those _Lul-gijak_!" He slapped his hand down on the gritty table, laughing with glee. It sounded like a rusty hinge being pried open. "Sit, sit," Uglúk invited the pirate. "We have business. I will be quick, and you can ride your _hol kurv_ into the mattress!"

Slowly, Coru put Naurë from him, and she sat once more on the stool, hands clasped in her lap to disguise their shaking. "So, you have brought the healer," Coru said by way of introduction. His ruddy hair, tied back in a messy queue by a ragged bit of leather, gleamed in the firelight and his eyes were sharp as he leant forward on his elbows to stare at the Uruk-hai. "Will no one miss her? Will no one notice her absence?" He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. "Or will half of Gondor be pelting in our direction, thirsting for blood and vengeance?"

Uglúk snorted in skepticism. "There were only a few elves, and they barely escaped with their lives," he said dismissively. "A fortnight it has been, and never have they come even close to us. No, we lost them by Rauros, and they will not find us here."

Clearly, Coru did not believe his compatriot but said nothing. "And her skills are intact?" he asked then, sliding a glance her way.

Uglúk nodded. "She has created a vast quantity of what we need," he confirmed. "I made her take some, and treated her harshly during our travels from Dol Guldur. She would not have survived had it not been real." Naurë closed her eyes and thanked Eru for the thousandth time that she'd thought to hide a few small vials of the remedy in the binding around her chest. She hadn't realized how important her continued health was to prove to the suspicious Uruk that she was not playing him false. Uglúk continued, "And your ship… it is ready to take us to Umbar on the morrow?"

Coru nodded. "Completely," he said. "When shall we depart?"

Uglúk thought a moment, clearly a difficult task as his mottled brow wrinkled with the effort. "My Orcs have toiled hard," he said at last. "I allow them this night to make merry—" Naurë shuddered to think of what Orcs might consider 'merry'—"and tomorrow day to rest, and then we leave at night." He peered hard at Coru, as if expecting the man to disagree with him. "This suffices?"

Coru nodded. "It does." Then he stood and yanked Naurë to her feet. "I will meet you where the _Prauta_ is docked, at dusk tomorrow."  Striding quickly from the room, Naurë jogging to keep up with him, he led her up the narrow, rickety stairs to what was more a closet than a room. Windowless, with naked beams and unplastered walls, it was oppressively small and yet Naurë felt it rivaled the very halls of Imladris in beauty, so relieved was she to be away from her captor. 

Coru released her and shut the door, propping the lone chair under its knob to ensure some measure of privacy and security. Then he turned back to her, eyes identical to her own gleaming with speculation in the light of the single candle. "Are you quite sure it is safer here with me, milady?" he purred in what she supposed would have been a very seductive tone had he not been her own flesh and blood. "You look familiar to me, and seem to know me; have I bedded you?"

Naurë burst out laughing. "If I look familiar to you, 'tis because of the face you see in the mirror each day, not because you have bedded me." 

"A cousin, then?" he asked, scrutinizing her. "But one farther afield than Bree, methinks, as there is only Lalaith and I that I am aware of…no, I cannot think of who you are, you will have to tell me."

Naurë sighed, knowing this would be difficult. "I will now recount to you a tale, and you must believe me, do you hear?"

His handsome, lean face was impassive, but he leant back against the wall and crossed his arms, tapping the fingers of one hand on the elbow of the other. "I am waiting."

She took a deep breath. "Coru, I am your grandmother. I am Naurë," she began, then rushed to continue when his face twisted into an expression of abject disbelief. "Lalaith… she made a mistake, and gave me too much of that remedy I was working on… it erased the weight that long years of life placed on my body. Elrond was able to halt its effect, but not before I was returned to this state."  She glanced down at herself, at her strong young body, at her unwrinkled hands, their skin unspotted and taut, the fingers without gnarled, thickened joints. "I can scarcely believe it myself, and it has been months, now. But it is true."

"Ever has my cousin been impetuous," Coru said slowly, "but I find it hard to believe she would do such a thing."

"She was… distraught… at the time," Naurë allowed. "I was dying, I had said goodbye to her. We were in Imladris, she was surrounded by elves and feared to be alone." 

"Let us say that I believe you," he said, skepticism heavily lacing his words. "You are my grandmother Naurë, altered to be young again. How is it that your elves allowed your capture?"

"They were outnumbered," she replied defensively. Coru had always poked fun at her friendships with the Edhel. "Coru!" She slapped him on the arm when he began to laugh. "Ever do you mock me! I am strong enough to put you over my knee once more, child. Do not think to push me." Exhaustion displaced adrenalin in her slight body, and she swayed uncertainly on her feet. "I have had a trying day." 

"Ever do you threaten to spank me, but you never do," Coru murmured, and in spite of his familiar words, there was no solid recognition in his eyes. Rather, a worrying sort of interest in the concept of spanking… and he was coming closer to her. Naurë shrank back only to find herself backed up against the bed, entirely the wrong place to be if his hands at her waist were any hint. Paralyzed by shock, she was still enough for him to bend his head toward hers, plainly intending a kiss.

Naurë began to fight him, but she was weak from the inactivity and malnutrition of the last weeks, and he quickly subdued her. "Please," she gasped, trying to slap his hands from under her skirts, "please, do not. I **am** your grandmother, Coru. Your mother, Ûra, was my daughter. And," she continued as an afterthought as Coru insinuated a knee between her thighs, "I should have made her raise you better. Coru!"

He raised his head from where he'd nestled it against her neck and begun to lavish open-mouthed kisses. "Yes?" he replied, completely unperturbed by her protests.

"What will you do when you learn that I say the truth? How will you live with knowing you raped your own granddam?"

He stared a long moment at her, eyes flicking repeatedly over her features. Naurë was very aware of his body draped over hers, of his stirring arousal digging into the soft flesh of her belly, and prayed Haldir never learnt of this. Coru seemed to come to some decision, for he eventually levered himself from her to lounge on the other side of the bed, head propped on his hand as he continued to gaze at her. But that gaze was not lazy. Naurë had not known that brown eyes could be cold, but cold they were.

"I will grant," he said at last, "that you might be a cousin, for there is no denying that your eyes are very like my own, and your hair—" he reached out and tugged on one of her shoulder-length curls, their warm colour dulled by neglect—"is certainly that of my kin. But I am no fool, and will not allow you to play me for one." His hand shot out and grasped her wrist. "There will be no more talk of my grandmother. What is your name?"

Frightened, she could only whisper, "My name is Naurë."

The manacle of his hand on her wrist tightened. "That is the wrong answer."

Tears started in her eyes, and Naurë cursed herself for her weakness in her inability to prevent their falling. Despair welled up, threatening to choke her, and she thought with longing of Lalaith, of Elrond, and of Haldir. Such hope she had felt at the sight of Coru's face! Such hope, and now such anguish, for it was clear he neither believed her nor cared of her plight. 

"Your name," Coru repeated softly, and she felt the fragile bones of her wrist grind together from the force of his grip. 

Resolve surged up to battle with the despair. She had not lived ninety-four years, traveled the length and breadth of Arda, befriended the haughtiest elves in the world—not counting her failure with Thranduil—survived attack and capture by Orcs, and returned from the brink of death itself only to succumb now. "My name," she said, eyes flashing, "is Bronwege."

He seemed to accept her answer, for he removed his hand. Immediately, she scooted back as far from him as she could without falling to the floor. "Well, Bronwege," Coru said, amused, "since I am not one to lie with kin, I will not touch you this night." He smirked at her heartfelt sigh of relief. "But we will still share the bed… unless you would like to sleep on the floor?" He motioned to the bare, cold corner as he stood, then stretched languorously as a prelude to shucking his every stitch of clothing. Coru seemed vastly amused by her modest aversion of eyes, and chuckled about it even after he had slid under the covers and blown out the guttering candle.

Naurë sat, knees to chin and arms curled protectively around, for a long time until Coru's sleepy voice commented, "I have given you my word that I will not touch you."

"The word of a pirate!" she snapped, furious and shocked at what had transpired. 

" 'Tis the only word you'll be getting this night, so it will have to suffice," he replied, a trifle testily, and rolled over. His bulk knocked her right off the bed and she hit the floor with a thump, tears springing up once more. 

Soft snores began to come from above on the bed, and Naurë stood, rubbing her sore backside. She did not dare to undress, but removed her boots and cautiously peeled back the sheets. They were coarse and unclean, but still better than sleeping on the boats between two Orcs, she supposed. She dropped her head onto the pillow and almost moaned at the luxury of it, then pulled the blankets up to her chin. Holding herself stiffly, not allowing her limbs to relax, sleep was a long time coming, and it wasn't until Coru rolled over once more and pulled her tight to him, arm draped round her waist, that she accepted the inevitability of this situation.

_Perhaps it was not bad to give up, just a little,_ Naurë mused, and relaxed against him. She had his word, disreputable though it was, that he would not harm her, and he **was** her grandson, thought he might refuse to believe it. Exhaustion overcame apprehension, and finally, she fell asleep. 

_Baj fushaum jashat ob goi_ = Make camp outside city

_Narakshi_ = a tribal, semi-nomadic people of the Haradwaith

_shatraug-gru_ = witch-woman

_Lulgijak_ = flowers (in the) blood, or extreme wimp = elf

_hol kurv_ = skinny whore

_Bronwege_ = endurance, faith


End file.
